Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Dude, look at this one! It's like a Picasso on fabric!” Ned's eyes sparkle with excitement as he holds up a particularly colorful shirt.

MJ, sitting cross-legged on the floor, glances at it with, replying with her usual dry tone, “looks more like a Jackson Pollock to me."

It’s nearing the end of June and Ned, MJ and Peter are elbow-deep in their charity work at Queen’s local community center. Boxes of donated clothes and canned goods surround them as the trio’s hard at work sorting and organizing through the mess.
Peter, hunched over a box of canned tuna, can’t help but smile at their banter. His friends are one of the few constants in his life now, little of what he has left of his old one, and he cherishes their every moment together, even during boring summer vacation work.

During a momentary pause in their labor, Ned's curiosity gets the best of him, “so, what have you guys been up to this summer?"

MJ's attention is locked onto a stack of clothes as she casually replies, “books, mostly. Found this interesting little bookstore in downtown Manhattan, delved into some dark literature."

Ned chuckles. Over the time MJ had started hanging around them and then with them, both him and Peter have grown aware and fairly used to the girl’s penchant for the macabre, “classic MJ."

“What are you reading now?” Peter asks.

MJ’s eyes zero in on him rather quickly, before she’s lowering her gaze and shrugging her shoulders, almost bashfully, “about that crime, the Black Dahlia. You probably don’t know it.”

Jokes on her- Peter has been doing a through research in all MJ-interests related stuff and, thanks to his weird embarrassing need to sound less like a simple nerd and more like an informed one to her, he has come across that particular crime, “actually, I do! It’s nice- uh, I mean, not nice, since it’s, well, y’know, a murder but… you get what I mean…”

MJ snorts quietly at that and Peter has to hide his face from her view at that win, (making her smile is always a win). Thankfully, she’s not the one who can listen to other people’s heartbeats, because his is going miles per minute.

As Ned shares the trip he’d gone on with his parents and nanna, Peter thinks back to his own summer. There’s still a load to go before they’re back to school and usually he’d simply stay at home with May or by himself and patrol, trying to ignore the empty feeling Camp Half-Blood left in his heart.
This time, things are different. His house is full of people, even a guest around his age which means his solo nights slash days or little larb dinners have been replaced by a lot more bustling activity and loud company.

That’s something he actually particularly likes about his new living circumstances. It has taken him a while to get used to, but he sure loves having Morgan and Mr. Stark and Pepper to sit at a full table with. He also can’t help but notice Harley Keener has been a wonderful addition to the Stark household during his stay in New York. The blond-haired, sharp-witted young man from Tennessee has been around for about a week now, Tony and Pepper temporarily housing him as the 18 year old ventures the state visiting universities of interest. Tony, of course, keeps on drilling into the boy with his usual MIT propaganda, just like he always does with Peter, even offering to pay for the boy’s tuition if his mother can’t afford it. Harley’s smart enough to get a scholarship, though, and Peter hopes he does because that’s clearly what the boy seems more decided on.

At first, Peter had been afraid they’d clash somehow, even admitting to be a bit skeptical and nearing jealousy when he heard all about the kid who’d saved Tony Stark all those years ago: what if he was so much cooler than Peter? Peter was a nerd, no doubt. Plus he had a full baggage of trauma and hard times clinging to him, Harley sounded like he’d be so much easier to deal with for the Starks. What if Morgan suddenly ditched him- preferring the new big kid? Sure, it’d be temporary, but Peter’s abandonment issues were here to stay.

In spite of his anxiety, it had only taken a couple days for the two to get along like a house on fire, which had Peter dancing in his shoes- he’s never been one to make many friends, being way too lucky for having Ned and MJ and Kate, but Harley seems like someone he can even keep in touch with after he leaves… well, he could, if Peter could actually use his phone that is… He can’t exactly iris message the mortal boy all the way to Tennessee when he eventually leaves, now, can he?

“There’s this guy staying with us, actually,” Peter says, smiling, “his name’s Harley and he apparently saved Mr. Stark a couple years back in Tennessee. He’s staying over while he looks at unis in this state.”

Ned, who has always been the most easily excited of the bunch, can’t help but jump at that, “ooh, that’s right! You did mention some Harley coming to stay with you soon! What's he like?"

Peter flashes him a grin, “Harley's pretty awesome! We've been bonding over engineering stuff. You know, messing around with gadgets and all that. I’m glad we get along well."

Ned's eyes lit up with curiosity, “dude, no way! That sounds amazing!” He pauses, “that doesn’t mean you like him more than me, though… right?… Peter!”

Peter chuckles, shaking his head at his friend’s antics, “we've been working on some cool projects together. He's a total whiz with engineering, and he's got this quirky hobby of building potato guns when he’s on a building-block. We already made a bunch of them this week!”

MJ grows a sly grin,"he sounds right up your alley. Both nerds."

Peter utters a complaint, throwing his tongue out at her. Then, he continues, "you'd like him too, y’know? He’s a bit of a spitfire. Plus, Morgan's already taken a liking to him."

MJ raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued, “Morgan likes him, huh?"

Peter nods, “yeah, they've been having fun. We all have."

“Hmm,” she grunts.

“I’m glad you finally get to have a break, dude,” Ned says, clapping Peter on the shoulder. Peter nods, smiling softly at his friend. Then, Ned’s enthusiasm wins once again, “when can we meet him?!”

"I'll see when he’s available. Perhaps next week? I don’t know, he’s been quite busy the rest of the time.”

The trio goes back to their volunteering work, silent for a minute.

Peter hesitates for a moment before sharing a bit more of his own summer adventures- with severe gaps (classified information sorry guys) to it, of course,- like, say, the time he almost died at Central Park, bitten by a giant monstrous snake straight out of their History greek mythology books, “I, uh… I also had a friend over for a week. She's pretty awesome, guys. You'd like her too.”

Ned's curiosity is immediately back, “new friend? Girl or boy this time?!”

“What does that matter…?” MJ rolls her eyes.

Peter throws his best friend a light scowl, rolling his eyes, “old friend. Girl.”

“Ooohhh,” Ned exclaims, “who is she, dude?! You didn’t tell me about her! Like, I had no idea you even had any other friends! When did you two meet?!”

Peter blushes faintly, trying to ignore Ned’s innocent implications. He loves Kate- as a friend, or big sister at most.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m so un-friendable…” He dryly replies to the other boy, rolling his eyes even again as his cheeks keep feeling warm. “Her name's Kate. We met when I was ten and she was about my age now. So she’s a bit older than us.“

MJ, who had been quietly listening, finally speaks, a subtle change to her tone, "Kate, huh? What's… she like?"

Peter picks up on the slight shift in MJ's voice but ultimate ignores it, not really understanding if it’d been deliberate or not. Maybe she’s got something in her throat?

"She's great! Really smart, strong and a pro with a bow. She's into archery, loves Hawkeye.”

MJ nods, gracing him with a faint smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “sounds okay." Which is MJ-speak for ‘cool’ or ‘nice’ or any other word of strong approval.

"I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you had another friend, dude! She sounds so cool, maybe we should all hang out sometime!”

MJ clears her throat, "smart and strong?… Sure, sounds like fun. Sometime.”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, trying not to let his worry get the best of him, “but she’s away on a trip to Russia, and I’m not sure… when… she’ll be back. Might have to wait a while.”

“That’s okay, we’re busy for the next few weeks anyway,” Ned gestures at the piles of goods they have yet to sort through. Then, he puts the shirt he’d been folding aside with a sigh of contentment, “that reminds me, guys, have you heard about the big Europe trip next school year?"

MJ shrugs, “yeah, Flash’s already blabbering about it on all his socials. Half the world knows by now. The more he gloats about it the more boring it sounds-“

Ned obviously can’t disagree more, “-boring?! Boring?! It's Europe, MJ! We'll be seeing famous landmarks, trying new foods, experiencing different cultures—"

Peter interrupts, an uncharacteristic firmness to his voice, “I'm not going."

Ned and MJ exchange puzzled glances. Ned's excitement wanes a bit at his best friend’s words, “why not, Pete? It's going to be a blast! Plus, it's senior year; it's like… our last hurrah together before college!!!”

Peter fumbles with a can, not meeting their eyes. He wants to go, the gods know he does, but he just can’t afford to spend so many days in Europe. He’d already risked his neck enough by going to Germany back when Mr. Stark had recruited him to fight the Rogues. He may be rash and inconsequential at times, but he’s not Kate. He’s not half-blood material enough to seek out such danger. Besides, he barely makes it year-round at school without his friends and peers testifying the weirdest of incidents,- which has happened before and Flash never really let him live it down until now,- what about all those days stuffed together, sharing rooms and transportation, right under their teachers’ watchful gaze?

“Yeah, it sounds great, but... I've got stuff to do here, you know? Responsibilities. I can't just take off for a couple weeks."

MJ raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing through Peter's excuses, “what? Tony Stark won’t let you go? Is that it?”

“I’ve told you he’s not like that,” Peter bites his lip, taking a peak at the girl and finding her narrowed, studious eyes watching him. He quickly focuses back on the task at hand, choosing his next words carefully, “it's just... it's complicated, guys. I can't leave right now. Not, uh, not this… year… at least.”

Ned glances at Peter sympathetically, understanding that the boy has his reasons. He won’t ask with MJ around, but it’s obvious he must be thinking it has to do with Spider-Man. Peter will surely be undergoing further investigations by his best friend later, “alright, man, if you say so… But just know, Europe won't be the same without you."

Peter can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at Ned's words. Still, he knows he can’t reveal the truth, no matter how much it wants to come out, “thanks, man. You guys have fun, though."

Ned nods and Peter doesn’t need a sixth sense to feels his disappointment. As his best friend walks off to drop a box in the sorted storage section of the place, Peter feels MJ get up, holding her own finished box. She stops close to him and Peter can feel his cheeks heating up, every hair on his body raising due to the proximity. He can hear her heartbeat. It’s fast.

MJ gives a thoughtful nod, her earlier skepticism replaced by something closer to understanding, “it’s a shame…” She says, voice thick and quiet, like she’s forcing herself to admit it, “I’d like you to come.”

Then, she quickly marches off, not even giving Peter the time to reply.

Peter’s cheeks catch fire, turning even redder if that’s possible. He takes a minute to imagine himself a normal student, going with his friend and the girl he likes on a fun trip to Europe without the worries of being hunted down and putting those same friends in danger themselves. But he’s not normal on so many levels. So, he shakes his head, cutting the daydream short before he can hurt himself further and focuses on piling the cans inside his own box, faster, quicker.

He can’t complain. At least he still gets to go to Midtown after everything that’s happened.

…

The warm summer sun bathes the streets of of New York in golden light as Peter and Tony stroll together, hands in their pockets, following a delightful visit to the science museum. It’s one of Tony’s rare outings and he’s clad in what Peter’s told him time and time again is not the disguise the genius thinks it is: shades and a baseball cap. (He managed to convince the man to ditch the hoodie because 1) it doesn’t draw as much attention away from him as he thinks and 2) it’s freaking summer!) The way Peter sees it the man should think of shaving his trademark goatee if he really wants to pass as a normal civilian and not one of the most famous people alive. But he doesn’t really want to imagine Tony without his goatee, the picture too weird for even his imagination, and he’s just glad the man has come with him to the robotics expo May had promised to take him the then following year, when it eventually arrived at New York… a promise she couldn’t fulfill…

Aside from the museum, Tony had also promised Peter an ice cream treat, just the two of them living their most normal best life- and the anticipation hangs sweetly in the air as Peter leads his guardian towards the shop where Kate and him had gotten theirs at a couple weeks ago.
As they walk, Tony can’t help but smile at Peter's youthful enthusiasm, watching him step on the floor tiles of the sidewalk, avoiding the lines like a little kid would.

“So, kiddo, which flavor are you getting today?" Tony asks, glancing ahead as if he can see the the ice cream parlor they’re slowly approaching. Peter has the distinct feeling the man’s just as excited at going out like a normal person would as he is.

Peter grins, "lemon and mango, obviously! It’s only the best combo! Sour and sweet!”

Tony chuckles, “can’t argue with someone who’s able to eat six whole tubs in one go… I think I'll go for the chocolate chip and mint one."

Peter turns his head his guardian’s way so fast it nearly breaks, bearing the most offended face ever, “this person right here, sir officer, it’s this one…” He points at the man.

Tony pokes his tongue out at the kid, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Peter complains, ducking from underneath his hand as he tries to fix it.

“Not my fault some little spiders don’t do well with mint,” Tony chuckles.

“Forget my intolerance,” Peter shakes his head, “I never knew you liked to eat toothpaste, Mr. Stark-“

Just as they are about to turn the corner to the gelato store street, Peter’s sense goes off, effectively shutting him up.

“Peter Benjamin Parker!”

Nearly at the same time, a woman passing by stops several feet behind them. Peter quickly looks over his shoulder, seeing the red haired, tigress-leggings-clad yoga mom stare him off… and then proceeds to vehemently swear under his breath, heart rate picking up.

Not now. Not now. Come on!

Would the world end if he got one single day not ruined?!

Tony raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued and he starts turning around, in the direction of the shout, “uh, you know her, Pete?"

Peter, however, doesn’t answer. Instead, he quickly grabs Tony's hand and begins pulling him away from the woman, around the corner, quickening their pace to a tiring level. Tony stumbles slightly, eyebrow arching, his confusion growing, “woah, hey! I know you really like ice cream, bud, but let’s not sprint there, okay? I got a heart condition- plus, what even is going on? Who was that?"

Peter leads them a few storefronts from the gelato shop, “so, you like mint ice cream, Mr. Stark? I bet you’re one of those people that eat cinnamon gum too-“

“I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on the part where someone just sounds absolutely pissed off and called out a full name that wasn’t mine,” Tony interrupts, pulling the boy to a stop against his will, “Pete, who was that woman?”

“Would you believe me if I said an old, very evil teacher that traumatized me back in fifth grade and whom I never want to see again?”

Tony narrows his eyes behind his shades, “depends, would that be the truth?”

Peter glances nervously over the man’s shoulder, eyes scanning the corner of the street, waiting for the yoga mom to show up again, “like, half of it…?” Tony’s lips purse into a not amused shape. “Can we just…?” Peter gestures for Tony to enter the shop.

His guardian does so with a sigh and the teen follows suit, though he hesitates at the entrance, “uh, Mr. Stark, could you do me a favor? Get the ice creams, and I'll meet you here in a minute. I... I need to use the bathroom."

Tony frowns, his instincts telling him something’s off, “sure, kid, but you're acting a bit strange. You sure you’re okay?"

Peter forces a smile, “yeah… yeah! I’m fine! Totally great! Couldn’t be better, just... Just nature calling, you know? I'll be quick."

Tony shrugs, still puzzled but willing to indulge Peter's request, “alright, but don't take too long, or all the lemon and mango might be gone too if you’re not fast enough.”

With that, Peter dashes into the place’s bathroom, quickly spotting a window and squeezing his body out onto the street. He finds himself in a narrow alley. He knew that familiar call of his full name meant trouble, and he was right.

The yoga mom is quick to come into the shadows of the narrow dead-end street and Peter has to blink several times to see through the mist. The woman’s tiger pattern clothes are replaced by rotten rags, her red locks tied into a high ponytail turn into flaming hair and the bright pink leg warmers give place to a clear view of her legs, one of them a bronze limb. Her malicious red eyes lock onto Peter as she hisses, revealing her sharp teeth.

“Melissa!” Peter greets, putting on his best masking smile and opening his arms in a wide welcoming arch, just like he’s seen Tony do so many times, “how long has it been? Not long enough, I’d say. Oh and look at that, you’ve changed your outfit! I thought teaching math was your calling, how’s yoga going for you now?”

The monster’s flaming hair flickers like a sinister crown, Melissa's eyes narrowing in response to Peter's seemingly cheerful greeting. She snarls, her voice dripping with menace, "son of Athena, your clever words won't save you this time. I'll enjoy devouring you slowly!”

“Yeah, that hasn’t changed…” Peter rolls his eyes, reaching for his waist, “listen, we’re gonna have to cut this meet-up short, I already had plans and it’s kinda rude of you to show up unannounced.”

Without wasting a moment more, Peter reaches for the keychain attached to the belt loops of his jeans and clicks it. With a soft metallic whir, his two slender sharp bronze blades spring forth from the keychain, fitting snugly into his grip. He looks down, weighting them and lowly humming in approval.
Kate had commissioned the custom-made carry from a demigod inventor, Leo Valdez, who had a knack for transforming demigod equipment into more discreet and practical forms. That was great for Peter, who has more than once forgotten his blades when he needed them most- and, perhaps, Mr. Stark would stop seeing random shit every time he came back from slaying a monster or tried to practice in secret.

Thanks for nothing, Mist…

The empousa hisses and lunges forward, her bronze leg extending to kick him in the chest. He somersaults backwards with non-surprising agility, or maybe a bit surprising to her from the look on her ugly face,- the last time he’d faced her it’d been before the bite- narrowly avoiding the attack. Landing on the balls of his feet, Peter quickly assesses the situation, his mind going through the several courses of action available, predicting their end results. It’s all really a matter of maths and physics, funnily enough: probabilities, speed, gravity and a couple of predictive models. Easy stuff.

With his newly sharpened blades in hand, Peter’s ready to take the offensive. He lunges at Melissa, slashing at her with precision and speed. The bronze blades slice through the air, cutting at her flaming hair and leaving trails of sparks. She screeches in fury as the celestial bronze does its work, causing her fiery form to flicker and wane.

But the empousa isnt’t entirely a pushover. She retaliates with a burst of flame from her mouth, sending a searing arc of fire towards him. He rolls to the side, narrowly evading the deadly flames thanks to his spider-sense and hurriedly pats down on the sleeve of his T-shirt, which is starting to catch fire.

Their battle rages on, Peter’s agility and speed matching the empousa's supernatural strength and ferocity. He activates his web-shooters, swinging from pipes and running on the walls of the alley, using his blades to create an intricate dance of strikes and parries. Each clash of metal against bronze fills the alley with a cacophony of sparks and hisses. He’s used to fighting mortals with just his fists and webs and sometimes it feels like he doesn’t practice with his blades enough despite being attacked by monsters nearly every other day, but the fight is in his blood. The weapon chooses the demigod, is what they’re often told upon entering camp’s armory for the first time. The blades feel like natural extensions of his own body, allowing him to maneuver effortlessly in combat.

As Peter fights to subdue the empousa, he can’t help but glance at his wrist watch, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving Tony in the dark about his double life once again. But it’s not like he has a choice, now, does he?

Finally, with a swift and calculated strike, he puts an end to the scene, delivering a powerful blow that severes Melissa's bronze leg at the hip, causing her to collapse to the ground. Her fiery form dims, and her hisses turn into pitiful whimpers.

Seeing the empousa defeated, Peter wastes no more time.

“Let’s do this again soon, yeah?” He asks the monster, “but not too soon. Hey, in the meantime, you should check if they have mint ice cream in Tartarus. Heard it’s like hell down there anyway, so…”

Melissa’s animalistic eyes stare up at him as she gurgles.

Peter stabs her right in the heart- she explodes in a cloud of dust.

With the menace neutralized, he doesn’t even have time to take a breather, leaping onto the adjacent building, gracefully scaling the wall to reach the store’s bathroom window again.

Tony’s still standing near the counter, holding two ice cream cones. They’re starting to melt, and Peter feels an even bigger pang of guilt when he realizes the man hadn’t even touched his own until Peter returned. The genius seems to be entertained, though, enjoying the attention of a couple of elderly ladies who are eyeing him with admiration and, if Peter’s being honest, like he’s eye candy. His posture is relaxed as he chats amicably with the pair who’s clearly taken by his charisma. They’re giggling like schoolgirls in his presence.

"Oh, dear, you're such a delight to talk to!" Old lady number one purrs.

Tony flashes a charming smile, “well, thank you. I've been told I have a way with words."

“And your sense of humor, young man, it's refreshing!" Old lady number too exclaims.

Tony feigns modesty, which, from Peter’s experience, he’s not really that good at, “oh, this old thing? Just some dad jokes I picked up along the way."

Old lady number one crumbles into giggle at that, “oh, my… You must at least have a girlfriend, then, dear!”

Tony chuckles, “well, I did, but she ran away with a man in a metal suit."

Old Lady Two gasps, leaning closer to her friend and to the man, “oh, Tony Stark… Such a catch, that one."

Tony winks at them, “he is, isn’t he?”

Peter can’t help but feel a mix of amusement and second-hand embarrassment. He clears his throat, "uh, hey… ready to go?"

Tony turns to him, his trademark smirk still in place, “took you long enough, kid. I thought you'd fallen down the toilet."

The two elderly ladies turn their attention to Peter and the boy gulps, "is this your son? Oh, dear, isn't he just as handsome as his dad?" One of them remarks.

“No one’s as handsome as me,” Tony jokes, handing Peter his ice cream cone and looping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, “but I dare say, he is becoming serious competition.”

Peter blushes deeply, feeling like he'd rather face another empousa than endure this conversation, “yeah… uh… thanks for waiting… can we, can we go now? Please?”

Tony waves goodbye to the drooling old ladies and follows Peter out of the shop. He takes a once-over at Peter under the clear sunlight and shakes his head, “kid, you’re covered in dust,” he ruffles at Peter’s hair, shaking the monster dust away, “did you even go to the bathroom or were you secretly helping the owner with some construction?”

Peter pokes his tongue out at him, just like the genius had previously done with him, “well, you seemed so entertained with your knew friends, Mr. Stark, I didn’t wanna interrupt. I thought you were about to give them relationship advice next."

"Kid, one day you'll appreciate the wisdom of your elders," Tony shoots him a diverted look, taking a lick at his ice cream, “oh, no kidding. These are really good. Now where do you wanna eat them at? Park, beach, circus? Im on a roll here.”

‘That makes two of us’, Peter thinks.

“Wait, rewind… was that you finally admitting you’re old?”

He gets slapped upside the head.

…

The lab is buzzing with excitement as Peter and Harley dive into their latest project. Tools and gadgets lay scattered across the workbench, and a half-assembled robot stands at the center of their attention, slowly gaining shape.

"So, Peter, what do you think? Should we add a laser cutter arm or a grappling hook?" Harley asks, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest a potato canon,” Peter jokes, causing the older boy to laugh. Then, Peter scratches his head, considering the options, “well, a grappling hook could come in handy… but let's stick with the laser cutter for now. Safety second, fun first, right?" He asks with the same sly, chaotic glint in his eyes.

Harley quickly nods in agreement, and they glance over their shoulders to check if Tony’s paying any attention to their shenanigans, the man working on a separate part of the lab, before continuing to tinker with their robot. They’ve got green light to go crazy with the genius distracted.

The two of them make a fantastic team, with Peter's quick thinking and Harley's inventive mind.
As they work, Peter can’t help but be curious about Harley's future plans, “so, Harley, you're checking out universities, right? Any idea what you want to study?"

Harley pauses, his hands momentarily still as he ponders over the question. "I’ve seen some cool ones so far, but I’m not yet decided. I've been looking into engineering programs," he finally says, “maybe mechanical. Lots of options out there… What ‘bout you? You already got some idea on what you wanna do?”

Peter hesitates, it’s not like he has given much thought to his own future. He’s only sixteen, and with his dual life as both a demigod and Spider-Man, well… long-term plans seem more than… uncertain.

“Definitely engineering too, either physics or chemistry,” he decides, “I like both a lot.”

Just then, the door to the lab bursts open, and in rushes Morgan. She’s got a bright smile on her face, and her eyes are filled with a mix of curiosity and young mischief.

"Daddy said I can't be here!” Morgan chirps, giving herself right away, giggling as she darts around the lab to inspect the various gadgets and gizmos.

Peter’s eyes widen, glancing at Tony’s completely absorbed silhouette far off in the other room. He moves swiftly, already well versed in the big brother art of keeping Morgan in check, (seriously, how does she keep bypassing FRIDAY’s off-limits-for- little-Magunas program?), not wanting her to accidentally get her tiny hands on anything dangerous.

“Hey there, Mo," he says, scooping her up gently. She giggles, straining in his grip to get back down to the floor, “your dad's right; this place can be a bit dangerous. Let's go get him, okay?"

Morgan pouts but Peter gives her a big big kiss on the cheek and she instantly perks up, begging for a piggy back ride. Peter smiles, rolling his eyes at Harley as an acknowledgment for the sudden interruption, but the older boy only nods, grinning as Peter hoists her up to sit on his shoulders, holding her tiny hands so she won’t fall while he carries her back to Tony.

After Peter hands Morgan to Tony and returns, Harley notes the interaction with a raised eyebrow, “Tony doesn't want her down here, huh?"

Peter nods, “yeah, he's pretty protective of her."

"I get it. I was the same with my sister, until she grew up and became a big dumbass who needs a wake up call every once in a while, that is,” Harley laughs, before pointing over his shoulder, returning the subject to Morgan, “she’s obviously a smart kid but she’s also got that devilish glint in her eyes. Takes after her dad."

Peter can’t help but smile, “yeah, she sure does. But the bossy part? That’s all Pepper.”

However, as the day's work comes to a close, Harley can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. He turns to Peter just as they’re preparing their robot for a couple final tests, “hey, uhmm, I noticed something earlier. You said 'your dad' to Morgan, not 'our dad.' What's the deal with that? I thought you were Tony's son?”

Peter chokes on saliva and Harley pretends he doesn’t see him trying to gather his breath and composure for a whole minute.

Once he’s finally calmed down enough, Peter hesitates, eyes still rounded greatly, wondering how much he can reveal without plainly lying- the art of lying… it’s not something he’s very comfortable at and not very good either, he’s beginning to suspect. He opts for a small smile, clearly out of place after such an initial reaction, trying to turn things over to the lighter side as he shakes his head, “well, I mean, if I've picked up any of his style, it's purely by accident, I swear."

Harley gives him an amused look, “I meant you guys look kinda similar, you know, physically."

Peter chuckles nervously at that, trying to steer the conversation some other way with a joke, “oh, no, no, nothing like that. My fashion sense is entirely my own."

Harley isn’t ready to let it go, though. He leans in closer, seeing right through Peter’s bullshit, eyes narrowed as he unashamedly keeps on digging, “so, how did Tony and Pepper come to adopt you, then?”

Peter sighs, realizing he can’t avoid the line of questioning forever. "Actually, they didn't officially adopt me…? It's more like… temporary guardianship until I'm eighteen…”

Harley’s smirk dims.

“Uh… it's a bit complicated…? You see, I used to live with my aunt and uncle after my parents passed away. But my uncle died too, and my aunt... well, she- she passed away last year. I met Mr. Stark through an… er, through an internship program, and we grew really close, so the Starks took me in…?"

Harley looks at Peter with a funny expression, as if he’s seeing him in a new light, suddenly not looking at what he deep down thought might be a rich, privileged kid who happened to be pretty cool and chill to hang out with.

He clears his throat, a bit at a loss for words, “wow, I mean- that's... that's tough, man. I didn't know, sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Peter says.

“Are you… are you okay, dude?” Harley frowns, giving him a worried side eye. And really, he’s right to- Peter’s family history is just a tiny bit worrisome.

Peter ponders for a second, heaviness wanting to cling right back at his chest. He scrunches his nose, battling it away and shining a diverted grin Harley’s way, “I’m okay,” he assures, “just not winning any awards for it.”

Harley nods, staring back down at their work with a slightly shocked expression.

They stand in silence for a moment.

“So… I guess we've all got our own family drama, after all?”

Peter chuckles, feeling a connection with Harley starting to brew further, “yeah… Family can be complicated sometimes, even when they’re not at fault."

Harley nods, and they both share a sympathetic look.

“Lots of times they are at fault,” he adds, “I've got a mom and said little sister back in Tennessee. Dad left a while ago. Probably won the lottery or something, ‘cause he went out one day and never came back."

Peter smiles, appreciating the honesty in their conversation and Harley’s attempt to share a bit of his own story so Peter won’t be the only one exposing himself, “I know what it’s like wanting to have a full family. I’d give anything to have my family back," he admits, “but, the way I see it, your dad, he doesn’t deserve any of you, man. I know… I know it sucks but, you’re obviously doing great without him.”

Harley smiles, “you too… you know, you’re not what I thought you’d be, Peter.”

“I usually ain’t”, Peter chuckles.

…

Peter has been wanting to surprise MJ for months now.

He doesn’t want to surprise her with just anything, though,- he wants it to be very special, just like she is to him.

He knows how much she loves true crime stories and unsolved mysteries, especially the notorious case of the Black Dahlia, as of recently. He’d gotten the idea to get her a Black Dahlia necklace in Venice, after the news of the trip the new seniors of the decathlon team would be rewarded with had leaked, only for that flame of excitement to fade as he remembered he would not be going at all. So, when he hears about a special screening of a documentary on the subject, it seems like a rare gift from the gods- he immediately knows he has to get tickets for them both.
Inviting her had been the hardest part but Peter had channeled his inner Spider-Man fake confidence and told her about having tickets for the screening by the end of that week’s last volunteering hour. MJ’s eyes had lit like the sun and the stars and the full moon, before she’d clearly made an effort to conceal just how excited she’d really gotten at the invitation. Peter had smiled, mentally fist-bumping himself for getting it right, just as she agreed to go with him, claiming it’d be a shame to see the ticket go to waste.

The night starts with much promise.

The two decide to meet up by a mutually known bus stop, only a couple streets away from the theater. Peter had made a special effort to look extra okay, silently stressing himself out- because she probably thought they’d be going as just friends, while for him this hang-out meant the world in a completely different sense, so what if he looked like too much? But what if he looked too less and it came across to her as sloppy or like it didn’t really mean anything at all to him?
Pepper had silently chuckled as she helped him do his hair, just as May would have, while Tony poke fun at him from the side, instead of helping.

“Pepper once stuck her whole hand in my chest, kid. I’m telling you, girls totally dig originality.”

“Please stop trying to talk like my generation Mr. Stark… and I’m not shaping my hair into a mohawk.”

“Don’t listen to him, sweetheart. He’s an idiot.”

“Well, yeah- But I’m your idiot.”

MJ looks, to put it simply, blinding. Peter gets to their agreed upon meet-up point first for a change. After a couple minutes, though, he has the privilege of watching his friend arrive- dressed in a dark casual dress under a black denim jacket, her hair down but held back in a princess style by two little braids.

“Uh, hi…” She quietly says, coming to a stop before him. The dying sun is shining down on her dark tan skin, igniting the shape of her dark curls into a beautiful painting of golden and oranges. Her brown eyes are like a gulp of coffee after a spoonful of honey.

Peter very elegantly chokes in return.

As they approach the theater, MJ turns to Peter with a smirk, “ready for some gruesome murder mysteries?" She asks.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Peter chuckles nervously.

They enter the theater, all light banter and bashfulness. They take their seats right as the lights dim and the documentary begins. Peter tries to pay attention, he really does, but all he can hear is her steady heartbeat, all he can feel is her warmth next to him and he spends a fair amount of time thinking how the hell she managed to sweep him off his feet in such short amount of time.
Thinking that listening to a bit of the documentary would only help with not getting caught for not having paid a single minute of attention the whole hour and whatever more minutes, Peter forces his high-strung mind to actually settle for a little while. He’s probably as informed on the case as MJ is, at this point, yet the production really strikes him as interesting.

But, because the gods cannot give without taking, just as the film’s getting really good, Peter's sense tingles. He discreetly glances around the theater, searching for any sign of danger, already cursing his whole life and ancestry with words his dear aunt would scold him about using for half an hour straight.

And then, he sees them. The pair of eyes peaking in through the ajar door of the room, all the way up, behind the last row of theater chairs. Panic grips Peter as he realizes that, once again, his danger sense is right. The image flickers and the pair of eyes staring straight at him and MJ glitch, soulless voids taking their place on the squalid long pointy face hiding behind black curtains of wretched vertical hair.

He has to act fast.

Peter leans over to her, clearing his throat before whispering, “MJ, I need to use the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?”

She nods, her attention still on the screen, “sure, loser."

Peter quietly slips out of his seat and into the aisle, making his way to the exit. The monster is gone from the door and he tensely closes his hand over the owl keychain in his pocket and its two magic buttons. He knows he has to deal with the dracaena before it decides to strike, especially after it just saw Peter accompanied by someone else- monsters are sick in the head like that.

As he enters the dimly lit corridor outside the movie room, he feels a sudden chill in the air, yet all he sees are three theater employees behind a counter, looking at him as he exits the room mid-movie.

Then, he looks again, eyes widening. The three theater employees have dark fins on their backs, their faces obscured by long dark curtains of hair like the ghost from that really old movie he gave up on watching- the Ring?-, and their uniforms are torn. Either the theater pays its employees very very badly, or those three are not employees at all.

As the draconian creatures surround him, legs exchanged for strong twin tails, Peter's more than inclined to go for the latter.

“What’s the matter, little half-blood?” One of them hisses.

“Not enjoying the movie?” Another goes on.

“Not enjoying the company? We can help with that,” the third finishes.

Peter’s heart jumps to his throat, the threat left in the air not sitting well with him one bit. MJ’s not to be threatened under any circumstance. Their monster eyes are not to so much as look her way.

“Is this the part where I'm supposed to be afraid? Because all I'm seeing are some overgrown extras in a low-budget horror flick."

The first hisses, inching closer, mouth twisted into an amalgamation of rotten teeth and a saw-like tongue, “you silly little godling, you have no idea what’s coming for you!”

Yeah, that obviously doesn’t sound good at all.

“He has no idea!” The second chirps.

“No idea!” The third giggles- if giggling sounded like chalk scratching against a blackboard.

Peter readjusts his stance, eyes trailing their motions and every twitch, aware that at any moment he might have to dodge an attack.

“You know, you three remind me of a bad sequel – same plot, same villains, and still not worth the ticket price."

Peter's senses are on high alert as the three dracaenas close further in on him, their snake-like bodies coiled, ready to strike. He takes a step back, his hand instinctively reaching for the keychain, releasing his bronze blades. With a swift motion, he spins the blades in his hands, ready to defend himself.

The first dracaena lunges forward, its fangs gleaming in the dim theater hallway. Peter sidesteps the attack, his reflexes enhanced by his spider abilities. He swings one of his blades in a low arc, slicing through the creature's scales and sending it writhing in pain.

The second dracaena slithers in from the side, its tails lashing out like a couple of whips. Peter ducks and rolls, narrowly avoiding the attack, and then lunges forward in retaliation, slashing at the monster's exposed flank. It lets out a hiss of pain as green ichor oozes from the wound.

The third dracaena, smarter than the others, hangs back, waiting for the right moment to strike. Except, Peter has no intention of giving it that chance. He fires a web line at a nearby support beam and swings up to the ceiling, putting some distance between himself and the creatures as he tries to come up with a plan to get the three done and over with hopefully before the end credits start rolling.

The dracaenas hiss in frustration, their serpentine heads darting around, trying to locate their prey. Peter watches them from above, his mind racing. He needs a plan, and he needs it fast. Then it hits him. It’s an old little theater, the one they’re at. There has to be some old outdated projector room nearby! With a quick swing, he lands on a catwalk that leads to what he hopes is a projector room's entrance, or at the very least a room that serves the same for his plan. The dracaenas follow like well trained dogs, (he apologizes to the entire world dog population for the comparison), their forked tongues flicking out, sensing his presence, seeking his half-godly delicious scent.

Peter reaches the room, far back behind the last door at the end of a corridor, just ahead of the creatures. He swings inside and slams the door shut, locking it behind him. The dracaenas hiss and bang against the door, but it thankfully holds. Inside the projector room, he scans his surroundings. There isn’t much for him to work with, so that means out the window with coming up with a somewhat decent plan- he’ll have to improvise.
The room is filled with old film reels and dusty equipment. His eyes fall on the film reel spinning on the projector, and an idea actually blooms.

Peter tears a strip of film from one of the reels and fashions it into a makeshift whip. With a deep breath, he sticks to the ceiling and shoots a web to the lock, pulling it and flinging open the door just as the creatures burst through.

As they lunge forward, Peter cracks the makeshift whip. The film strip wraps around the first dracaena's neck, pulling it back with a satisfying hiss. Peter seizes the opportunity to drop from the ceiling, lunging at the second dracaena, his blades slicing through its scales and sending it to the ground in a pile of dust. She still manages to grab at his face before dying, violently slamming at his cheek with her claws, but thankfully misses his eye. The third dracaena hesitates for a moment, realizing its companions are defeated. Its hunger wins, though, and the creature lunges for him, but Peter is ready. He flips over it, pulling the other trapped dracaena with him, the monsters colliding with each other with an awful hiss. He twists his makeshift whip, trapping it by the neck tightly against the first- and, with a flick of his wrist, he shoots a web bomb around the two dracaenas’ heads, effectively blinding them. The blinded monsters thrash about, disoriented. Peter approaches them cautiously, his blades at the ready.

“Sorry, but I've already seen this movie. Spoiler alert: The hero wins!”

With a swift, well-aimed strike, he ends both in one go, the two turning to piles of dust that, honestly, no one can possibly find weird in that old unkept room. They should really close this place, it’s like… nearly falling apart- that’s probably what happens when a bunch of greek mythological monsters run it, though.

Peter stands there, panting, surrounded by the dust a minute more. His heart is still pounding, despite the threat being over. With one last look around, he leaves the room, locking it behind him again. The theater hallway is silent once more, and Peter starts making his way back to the documentary screening, hoping MJ hasn't noticed his absence too much. However, in a perfect imitation of his danger sense, Peter’s stomach churns at the thought of MJ and he checks his watch, face paling.

Peter hurriedly stumbles back into the theater’s main hall, his once nice clothes torn and his body battered. The door to the Black Dahlia screening is open and the lights are on. From what Peter can see from the distance, the few people that had been inside with them have gone already.

“Shit…”

He finds her outside, in the cool night air, but he doesn’t need to see her face to know their evening’s ruined.

MJ turns to him as soon as she spots him, anger and worry in her eyes. "Peter, where the hell did you go?! You missed almost the entire thing!"

Peter shamefully feels his gut twist, tears threatening to come up. He can never really win, can he?

“I- I, uh, I told you. I had to go to the bathroom, wasn’t feeling too good…” He mutters, unable to look her in the eyes, his face surrounded by a bubble of heat- she’ll obviously see right through his lie, “then there were some… guys causing trouble in the hallway and I… well, I had to help break their scuffle… and-“

She sighs, but her disappointment is evident. And rightfully so- his life as a demigod and a hero will always come between him and the people he cares about. She just doesn’t know that.

“Are you okay?” She wonders, frowning further, staring down at his askew clothes, hand coming to lightly touch what Peter’s pretty sure must be a bruised and abused cheek- at least, it feels like it. He tries not to choke again, touched that, despite her fowl mood, she still notices his injury.

Of course she does, she’s a good person- he reminds himself.

Peter nods, pressing his lips into a sheepish smile, “yeah, just… got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She nods too, stepping back as if burned, “okay…”

As they leave the theater that night, the atmosphere between them is heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. They walk in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Peter insists on walking her home, both as a way to redeem himself, both as a way to selfishly quell the lingering anxiety the dracaena’s threat created in him. He waves goodbye to her from the other end of the door and she quietly bids her goodbyes as well, politely thanking him for the invitation and for walking her home despite her not needing male protection. Then, she leaves him staring at the closed door of her apartment building.

Peter turns, starting his long way to the subway. He has been trying so hard to balance his life as Peter Parker with his demigod duties, not to talk about the already incredible load of secrets being Spider-Man implies, but it seems to be becoming increasingly clear that it is a delicate and sometimes impossible juggling act. The weight of his responsibilities hangs heavily on his shoulders, and he honestly can’t see a way out of the darkness that insists on following him wherever he goes.

…

Peter's day starts like any other, but it quickly spirals into frustration and despair.

His ADHD and dyslexia have always been a part of him, challenges he has learned to overcome like most demigods. They’re only other unfair inheritances that their kind automatically gets the minute they’re born- or, spewed out of a forehead… in Peter’s case (he tries not to dwell on that too much).

However, today is one of those days when they feel like insurmountable obstacles.

He sits at the lab table in the tower, surrounded by Tony and Harley, who are deeply engrossed in their trio’s engineering project. They seem to be effortlessly collaborating, their minds working in perfect harmony. Tony's sharp focus and Harley's brilliant ideas meld together seamlessly. But Peter can’t shake his restlessness. His leg bounces up and down uncontrollably under the table, and his mind darts from one thought to another like a squirrel on caffeine. It’s one of those nightmarish bad ADHD days when concentration is but an elusive dream and he can feel his sense of justice grit its teeth- it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair! Why can’t he ever be normal in any way whatsoever?!

Tony notices Peter's fidgeting and gives him a once over, noticing his lost gaze and the clear effort at blinking away his mental fog. Clearly discussing alternatives for the machine’s wiring isn’t doing the youngest much good, so he picks up a sheet listing several materials and their properties and hands it to the teen, hoping to snap him into focus some other way.

Not Tony’s fault.

Still the wrong move.

“Pete, could you read this for us? We need your input on the project."

Peter stares at the document in front of him, the words dancing on the page like mischievous sprites. His brain’s wired to read ancient Greek, a skill he has acquired from birth too through his demigod heritage, not that Tony knows that obviously. English, especially technical jargon, is a whole different challenge.

His frustration grows as he tries to make sense of the words. Dyslexia isn’t being any kinder to him today either as the letters seem to rearrange themselves into chaotic patterns. He can’t make heads or tails of it.

Tony and Harley’s voices also don’t help his focus, nor the fact that he can hear every single machine’s wiring and the electricity running through the bazillion cables Tony has in his lab. He can listen to the two’s heartbeats. He can hear the wind blowing against the tall tower’s side. Can hear cars honking down below. Can hear Morgan’s voice blaring floors above alongside Pepper’s steps.

With a sudden burst of frustration, Peter pushes his chair back and stands up abruptly. "I can't do this right now," he mutters, his voice laced with anger.

Tony and Harley exchange concerned glances as Peter storms out of the lab. Even from far away, the demigod can hear Harley voicing his confusion out loud, “what's up with him today?"

Tony’s voice has a clear edge to it and Peter can imagine him leaning back in his chair, watching the door through which Peter has just disappeared, trying to get a glimpse of him, “he's been dealing with a lot, Harley. Sometimes, he just needs some space."

Peter tries to swallow down his self pity, riding the elevator up to the penthouse, his heart heavy with frustration and self-doubt. He needs a break, some fresh air, and a moment to collect his thoughts. When he steps into the penthouse, he immediately hears Morgan’s joyful giggles again. He seeks out the sound, finding her in her very own play room, sitting down on the floor, surrounded by her dolls. Her face lites up when she sees Peter.

“Petey! Come play!” She exclaims.

Peter somberly shakes his head, “not today Mo, sorry.”

He watches her nod back, already so much better at respecting his boundaries, though looking down in clear disappointment- and Peter’s heart cracks another bit. He sighs, feeling the grey cloud over his head get heavier and darker.

May would tell him to keep moving.

May would tell him life’s meant to be lived, not sulked over.

May isn’t here anymore.

Peter walks over to Morgan, sitting down on the floor and opening his arms silently. Morgan’s eyes widen and she immediately catches on.

"It's hug time!" She declares, her arms outstretched.

As he hugs Morgan tightly, Peter’s troubles are momentarily forgotten. Her innocence and warmth are like a soothing balm for his troubled soul and, not for the first time, Peter wonders how he’s lived his whole life without his precious little sister.
Footsteps enter the room and Peter looks up without breaking the hug. Pepper’s watching them with a tender smile, understanding that Peter needs this moment of comfort. She too steps over, settling on the floor near her kids and gently starts stroking his hair.

Peter sighs, leaning against her side, letting her touch ground him.

“Tough day?” She asks.

Peter shakes his head, heart nearly bursting with love, “not anymore.”

…

As the evening sunlight lazily filters through the windows of the Stark penthouse, the group settles together in the living room, each to their own activity.

Pepper sits on one end of the couch, her attention glued to the news on the large TV screen. Tony’s sprawled out on the floor, leaning against the couch, the gadget he’d been tinkering with abandoned beside him as he dotes on his daughter who is sitting cross-legged in between his legs, patiently allowing him to braid her hair into intricate designs. On the other end of the room, Peter and Harley are engaged in a tense chess match. The chessboard’s spread out before them, the pieces arranged strategically. It’s Peter's turn and he’s currently deep in thought, his gaze flitting between the board and the television.

Just as Harley’s about to make a comment about Peter's hesitance, the news anchor's voice on TV breaks the silence, announcing a major fire downtown. Pepper's brow furrows as she watches the images of flames and smoke billowing from a high-rise building. Peter's spider-sense tingles just a second before she gasps and draws attention to the news, and he instantly abandons the chess game. He pushes his chair back, the object screeching loudly and jarringly across the house as his eyes lock on the screen.

“Guys, I, uh… I gotta go- go do this thing. There's something I really need to check out."

Harley raises an eyebrow, his sassy tone coming out to poke fun at the younger boy, “really, Peter? You're leaving in the middle of the game? Your chess skills can't be that bad."

Tony, always quick on his feet, jumps in to back up Peter's hasty exit, “it's not about the game, Harls. You know, Peter is… Ned's personal cat walker?” The man mentally slaps himself. He could do with a better excuse, but with Peter’s sudden outburst not even he can perform miracles that on top of the knee. Is that how the kid feels every time he’s got to spew out a last minute excuse? “Isn't that right, Peter?" He spews between gritted teeth, glare intense, trying to convey the message to the brilliant yet dense kid.

Peter nods quickly, though the excuse sounds just as flimsy to him as it does to Harley, “yeah, exactly! Cat walker. Gotta, um, take care of Ned's cat! You know, cat-walking things… the usual!”

Harley smirks, clearly not buying it, but he shrugs, “sure, man. You do you."

Tony shoots Peter a quick, encouraging smile, albeit discreet, trying to keep the teenager's secret intact.

Peter nods, one eye eyeing the exit and the other paying attention to the news anchor. He claps his hands once, “yeah, uh… see you later!” Then, he’s running out the door to the living room. But, before anyone has the time to say anything else, he’s coming back in again, sliding on his feet until next to the chest board and moving his knight across the squares, “uh, check-mate, by the way,” he smiles sheepishly at Harley and then is gone again- this time for good.

Harley blinks, looking down at his fallen King. Then, he blinks again.

Tony tries to hide a chuckle.

Meanwhile, Morgan, who had been listening intently to the conversation, suddenly pipes up, her eyes wide with innocence, “but Daddy, I thought Spider-Man was going to help those people…?”

Tony freezes for a moment, panic flickering in his eyes. He squints at Harley, catching the boy’s arched eyebrows and head beginning to turn their way in suspicion- he could let it slide, aware Harley’s not the kind to go out there spilling secrets. But that’s just the thing, it’s not even Tony’s secret to tell. So, he manages to regain his composure, turning his attention to his daughter.

“I bet if we keep watching Spider-Man will show up eventually. He’s got to swing there, right? I’m sure he doesn’t live right next to the fire, baby.”

Morgan nods, then twists in her place again, to find her father’s eyes, “also, Ned doesn’t have a cat! He has a hamster… Petey showed me pictures of him eating corn!”

Tony smiles at his beautiful daughter at the same time he curses the so called ‘age of innocence’ she’s at, “well, Ned has a cat now, Maguna, okay?” Tony seizes the opportunity to distract her with some playful tickling, effectively changing the subject as she erupts into giggles and the sounds of her laughter fills the room.

Harley turns his attention back to the TV with a frown and Tony sighs.

He’s thinking a large coffee- black, no sugar.

Pepper eyes him strictly, almost as if she can read his mind.

Although, maybe the four he’s had so far that day are enough, now that he thinks about it…

…

The tragic twilight has given way to a chaotic night by the time Peter manages to swing into the burning building’s vicinity.

Desperate screams and sirens wail throughout the air, drowning out any other sound. People in windows are waving, trapped and terrified. Spider-Man swings into action, webbing up falling debris, catching people mid-air, doing everything he can to help the firefighters save lives. His mind’s a whirlwind of calculations and adrenaline as he swings around the crumbling skyscraper, slowly getting everyone out from the top floors until there doesn’t seem to be anyone left and he’s left double checking, just in case. That’s when he sees a particular figure at the edge of a collapsing platform, flames licking and upper levels crumbling down, effectively trapping the person between a brutal death and a very big fall.

"I'm coming! Hold on!" He shouts to the woman in peril.

But then it happens. His spider-sense, usually a reliable friend, tingles wildly, from all directions, a bit too late. Before he can react, Peter is surrounded mid-swing, engulfed by a horde of abhorrent, unusually big black things.

He loses his grip on the web, free falling onto some random building’s rooftop with a yelp.

Terror and hysteria grow and explode within him as he realizes what exactly the things are and Peter screams as he absolutely looses it. His entire body is covered in them, black spots racing across the lenses of his mask, across every-fucking-where!

"Get off me!" he yells, fear edging so hard into his voice it cracks right in half as they crawl all over his suit, their many legs skittering. He swats at the spiders, but they just keep on coming, their bites piercing his costume, their legs pressing down on what feels like nude skin, the suit not enough to stop his hairs from rising. Peter’s eyes fill with immediate tears. His heart skips entire beats but Peter doesn’t have time to fear it might stop altogether. His breaths grow frantic as he fights to free himself from the suffocating mass, desperately twisting and turning and slapping at himself, “no, no, no! Please, no! Stop! Stop!”

With a desperate effort, he manages to tear himself free from their clutches, rolling savagely on the floor. Still, as he scrambles uncoordinatedly and desperately back up to his feet, the spiders converge right after him, moving with eerie coordination, like a mind hive, their beady eyes focused entirely on him, their size and speed revealing their true nature. Monsters.
Monster spiders.

One of the grotesque creatures lunges, trying to latch onto his padded foot.

"Ahh! Get away!" Peter screams, kicking the spider away. He can barely stand, his vision spinning from the clear panic attack he’s trying to keep at bay, but he knows he has to keep moving. That’s something his terrified brain doesn’t have to think about- it’s basic survival instincts. No stopping now.

"This isn't happening, this can't be happening," he mutters to himself as he stumbles away from the horde, racing down the wall of the building as he tries to convince himself he’s just having another one of those really bad nightmares. He glances back, terror in his eyes, but the image, despite surreal, is too detailed to be a product of his wild imagination.

This time, not even his humor can mask the stark fear he feels. The monsters are relentless, chasing him with that same single-minded determination that sends shivers down his spine.

Peter flees down the street, his heart pounding. He rounds a corner, not even checking where he’s going and finds himself at a deserted subway stop, probably cut off to the public due to the neighboring building being in flames. The tracks below are bathed in eerie light and he can hear the millions of tiny legs against the floor and the ceiling and the walls and all he can wonder is why the hell his instinct thought that would be a nice place to flee to. There’s no escape. And it’s creepy as hell. The deserted subway station is dimly lit, with flickering overhead lights casting eerie shadows on the cracked tiles and graffiti-covered walls.

The spiders descend right over those and Peter squares his shoulders.

“Come on Peter, come on Spider-Man. You can do this… you have to do this!”

He’s terrified of spiders, has always been, especially ever since that one bit him. If he sees one in his room, it’s not his room anymore, it’s the spider’s. Someone has to get the thing out, he won’t even go near it. Now, however, he’s the only person he’s got.

He desperately wants Tony and it makes him feel like a needy little kid.

Breathing in deeply, he faces the monsters, readying his web-shooters. He can cry and scream and tear at his own skin and delve into his worst fear coming true later- right now, he has to fight. That’s something he knows how to do in his sleep. Fighting. He’s been doing it his whole life.

The black mass comes, unrelenting, unforgiving, but it stops before it reaches him, merging into a nightmarish amalgamation of legs and fangs, forming into several enormous grotesque arachnids made of smaller arachnids. Peter swallows hard, forcing himself to keep on facing one of his greatest phobias head-on.

“That is so not better…” He weakly cries.

He clicks his keychain, hanging from a loop in the suit which he’s added especially for the little owl, and his bronze blades materialize in his hands. With precise movements, Peter forces himself to launch into the battle, striking with lightning-fast speed and agility. The spiders are formidable, but he’s relentless too, fueled by desperation and frenzy, each blade strike sending a spider limb flying.

"Stay down!" he yells, sweat dripping down his face beneath the mask as he fights back the waves of panic. One of the spiders twitches on the floor, two legs severed, six remaining. So many legs. There’s still so many legs. Why do they have so many legs?!

With a deep breath, he clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white. His spider-sense screams continuously about danger, and he knows he’s surrounded and that it’s a matter of time before he’s overwhelmed. He’s gotta act fast. As he’s pushed against a corner, Peter releases a burst of web fluid from his wrist-mounted web-shooters, creating a web dome around himself to buy some time. The giant spiders hiss and lunge at the webbing, their sharp fangs gnashing against the sticky strands, hairy legs striking with their sharp bladed edges.
Drawing upon his enhanced agility, Peter leaps into the air, flipping over the spiders as they try to breach his makeshift barrier. Landing gracefully on the other side, he quickly surveys the area. His eyes land on the benches lined throughout the station.

With remarkable speed, Peter uses his web-shooters to grab hold of the benches, ripping them off the floor and sending them hurtling toward the giant spiders. The heavy projectiles crash into the arachnid foes, luckily smashing a couple while scattering and temporarily disorienting the rest of them. Seizing the opportunity, Peter rushes forward, his bronze blades in his hands. He slashes and jabs at the spiders, striking with precision. Green ichor sprays from the monsters’ wounds as they shriek in pain, an unnatural screech kind of sound so loud it reverberates in his ears. But the monsters aren’t about to back down. No, they’re malevolent wicked things. They regroup, their numbers still overwhelming. Peter realizes he needs to end this quickly. Eyes desperately searching about, all he sees are walls- unless… He remembers the high-pressure gas lines running beneath the subway tracks and his mask’s lenses widen in an eureka-like moment.

With another burst of web fluid, Peter creates a web line and swings onto the tracks. The giant spiders follow, their legs skittering after him. Peter scans the area and spots the gas line. He fires a web line at the valve, quickly twisting it open. A high-pitched hiss fills the air as gas begins to spew into the tunnel, right in the direction of the giant and fast approaching threat.

He’s pretty sure what he’s doing is very much illegal. And dangerous.
It’s still so much better than spiders.

"I've had enough of you creepy-crawlies!"

Peter creates a spark with a quick enhanced-kind-of-forceful strike of his web-shooters against the metal rails, igniting the gas. The resulting explosion sends flames rushing through the tunnel, engulfing the giant monsters. Their screeches of agony echo in the confined space as they’re all consumed by the fire, scattering about erratically until they implode into charred dust.

The teen stands there, panting, sweat dripping from his brow as he watches the flames subside, quickly closing the gas valve and shooting large blankets of web fluid at the flames, preventing more fires from igniting across New York. Once the work is done, he has to take a minute to heave in ragged gasps.
He’s leaning feebly against a wall when the flames he’s just put out remind him of the burning building and the trapped woman- and he feels worse than a monster for having forgotten about her until now.

He hastily returns to the building where the woman had been, but the inferno has already consumed it entirely. His heart sinks as he realizes that he’s too late, that someone just died because he'd been waylaid by the monsters that plague him, courtesy of his heritage. He has just faced his fear and emerged victorious, but the victory feels hollow. What does it matter? He lost precious time. That time cost a precious life.

He heavily drops onto another building, facing the devastation, watching the red and blue lights down in the streets, watching the dark grey smoke billowing against the dark night sky. His suit is torn and battered, and the weight of the tragedy comfortably settles upon him, like it has no other natural place to be but in him. Which it doesn’t. Because it’s entirely his fault. His fault for failing and his fault for being what he is.

“I'm so sorry," he whispers, his voice filled with guilt and sorrow, “I’m so sorry I couldn't save you too."

…

The night is warm and the weight of the recent tragedy presses heavily on Peter's shoulders as he slips back into his room through an open window. His Spider-man suit clings to him, a reminder of the events he wishes he could forget. He can still see the silhouette being covered by the fire, can still feel the legs crawling over his skin, thousands, millions of them.

His heart is a bullet train and there isn’t enough oxygen to feed his adrenaline fueled cells. As soon as his feet touch the floor, Peter yanks the Spider-Man mask off, taking a big shaky gulp of precious air.

Yet, as he turns after closing the window, he freezes. There, standing in the dimly lit hallway, in all his pajama glory, is Harley, staring wide eyed at him through the very open, very ajar door of Peter’s room. The boy’s blonde hair is askew and his clothes are twisted. The older boy still has his hand under his shirt, having obviously been scratching himself as he either wandered out of or back to bed.

Peter's heart races, his mind a whirlwind of panic and plain utter panic. Lots of panic, really.

Time seems to slow as the two boys lock eyes. Peter struggles to find his brain, still reeling from all the horrifying input he’d received that night, and then struggles some more, this time to find his voice. But right as he opens his mouth, right before he can so much as even begin to try to explain, to begin the interminable train wreck of an excuse he’s trying to magically conjure- possibly involving cosplay?- Harley’s face does a funny twist and the boy raises a placating hand, a resigned and understanding look on his face.

"Honestly, I'm not even surprised," Harley says with a calm tone, "there are a lot of dots connecting right now. Like why Tony got your friend’s name right at first… man, he was desperate. Or, why Morgan keeps nicknaming every spider she finds a clear variation of ‘Petey’… Man, I’m so dumb for not seeing it sooner…”

Peter blinks, taken aback by Harley's calm reaction. His secret is out, exposed to someone who isn’t exactly part of the world he lives in, and yet, there is no sign of danger or imminent betrayal in Harley's eyes.

"Harley, I—" Peter starts, his voice embarrassingly shaking.

But again, Harley stops him, shaking his head slowly, “it's okay, Peter. I get it. You had your reasons for keeping this hidden."

Peter swallows hard, a mixture of relief and gratitude welling up inside him. Before May’s death, she’d been one of the biggest reasons why he took keeping his identity a secret so seriously- to protect her. After she died, that reason lost meaning, save for Ned and MJ, who were undoubtedly the next closest people to him, Morgan and Pepper literally living with the world renowned Iron-Man who had had more time in his superhero career to make bigger and worst enemies than Peter in his short years as Spider-Man.
But, if the world finds out who he is, everything will change. At school, even at home in a way. He doesn’t want to live his life behind shades and baseball caps. Doesn’t want to have the last normal part of him taken and twisted into yet another shit show.

So the secret remains, it always will.

"I appreciate it, Harley," Peter says, his voice filled with vulnerability as he meets Harley's gaze across the dark. It’s a silent exchange, a thank you and an unspoken promise.

Harley nods, his expression understanding, “sure thing, your secret's safe with me, Spidey."

With those words, the tension in the room seems to ease, and Peter finally allows himself to breathe. The weight of the night's events still hang heavily on him, but in Harley, he has suddenly found another small ally it seems, someone who understands the importance of keeping his identity hidden. It’s a small comfort, but in that moment, it’s enough and it means the world to him.

Yet, just as Harley begins to retreat from the room, he suddenly pokes his head right back in with a mischievous grin.

"Just 'cause I really have to know," Harley begins, "was it… ‘cause of Tony… that- y’know…?"

Peter can’t help but smile slightly, the first genuine smile that night, “he wishes. He just found me on Youtube. Radioactive spider bite, actually.”

Harley snaps his fingers, looking like he just got told ‘cut!’ while yelling ‘Uno!’, “shoot! My next option was cross-breed human trials… Okay, okay, I'm gone now! Sorry for that!”

And with that, Harley vanishes from sight, feet padding across the penthouse, leaving Peter standing in his room, mask in hand, staring down at it as he sighs heavily and limply flops down onto his bed.

…

Peter doesn’t sleep that night.

…

"You look sad."

Peter is startled by the sudden observation, his bleary eyes snapping up to meet Harley's gaze. It’s the next morning and he’s just gotten up and dressed after a night spent awake, marinating in guilt and leftovers of adrenaline. His aunt did always say that leftovers weren’t a healthy diet…

”You look even sadder than yesterday.”

The teen blinks, feeling a strange mix of surprise and vulnerability at being caught off guard by the other boy. Again. Peter's enhanced senses should have allowed him to distinguish the approach of anyone long before they reached his room, but exhaustion has apparently dulled his usually razor-sharp awareness. It’s the second time in less than twelve hours and Peter wonders if Harley’s just returned to the scene of the crime, the spot before his bedroom door where he’d seen Spider-Man make himself at home and take his mask off, just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

"Huh?" Peter responds, his voice coming out slightly hoarse from the sleepless night. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, trying to compose himself.

Harley stands in the doorway, a concerned furrow marring his brow, “you heard me," he says, walking further into the room. "You look like crap, man. Was it… the casualty from last night? I saw it on the news. Or is something else wrong? ‘Cause you can’t always save everyone, y’know? You’re not God or… I don’t know, Jesus or some shit. If anything, I think you’re better, actually.”

Peter hesitates, a swirl of conflicting emotions churning within him, all the while his cheeks catch flames at the compliment, especially since he doesn’t deserve it. He wants to tell Harley everything— the spiders, the fight. He already knows about his secret vigilante identity, what’s one more? But he can’t. The world of demigods, monsters, and gods is a secret he can’t share with anyone, not even his new friend, because it is even more unforgiving than the world of heroes and villains, of criminals and vigilantes.

And he refuses to help the fates hurt anyone else.

"Nah," he replies, trying to sound casual, “I'm just tired, you know? Insomnia's been kicking my ass lately."

Harley doesn’t seem entirely convinced, his piercing blue gaze still fixed on Peter. What’s up with blue-eyes folks? Can’t they blink a bit more frequently?

“Well, alright then, but I said what I said,” he declares, his tone softening. "I've got to head out to another visit, but I'll be back later this evening… Take care of yourself, Peter. Don’t be dumb like Tony, okay?”

Peter manages a weak smile, grateful for Harley's concern even if he can’t fully explain what’s bothering him.

"Thanks, Harley. Have a good one."

With that, Harley turns and leaves Peter's room. Peter watches him go, feeling a mix of relief and lingering sadness.

The weight of the previous night's events linger and the facade he maintains every day of his life grows heavier with each passing moment. Not for the first time he doubts his decision not to tell another soul about his other life- he’d give anything to talk it out with May as he used to.

And yet, look where that got her.

Six feet under, right next to her husband.

…

“You need to go back to sleep. Preferably more than 2 hours this time.”

“Why does everyone seem to take pleasure in pointing out something about me today?”

Tony Stark rises his brows in mock surprise- and a tad of real one perhaps- peeking over his newspaper and the coffee mug he’s currently drinking out of. Like he even reads the newspaper with the hatred he sports for the general media, the way he often gushes about how wasting paper on printing news is old-fashioned when he’s got holograms that rival those of futuristic movies and the fact that he almost never sits down to eat a proper breakfast to start the day. Not that he’s having one now either, but at least the energetic bomb of a dark brown liquid inside the mug is authentic.

“Woah, Harley’s right. Someone’s bent out of shape lately. What’s up kiddo? Where’d my favorite bleeding-heart of a spider go?”

Peter shrugs, his own brows furrowing darkly over his hardened eyes. And, because he actually knows what exactly is eating up at him, but can’t exactly tell his guardian- nor lie to save his life quite honestly- he simply proceeds to shove yet another spoonful of that awful tasting, colorful looking, certainly more radioactive than the spider that bit him, cereal. The only good thing it does for him is quite honestly the crazy amount of sugar it quickly offers his stupidly fast metabolism, so he can actually move his body and not fall over right as he wakes up after hours of no food. How do normal people even handle these things? How did he- before being enhanced?

“I don’t know.” 

There’s a pause, in which he can feel the billionaire slowly nod.

Peter looks up, glaring.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Ziltch. Nada.” Tony pouts, stucking his chin forward as he throws the newspaper carelessly over his shoulder and onto the floor, uncrossing the feet he has crossed over the table, shoes and all- it’s clear Pepper’s not at home,- and placing those back on the ground so he can get back up to his feet, “I just think that maybe Spider-man is finally acknowledging that he’s got way too much on his plate. Been out too late these nights. Too much time working, too much time swinging about, not enough sleeping. Same old, same old.”

“How much did you pay him?”

“Come on Underoos, you should know better by now. I always know when you take off the suit and I always know where you are. Well, I like to tell myself that, anyway…” The man gives him a knowing stare before resuming his nonchalant posture, “I don’t need a sardonic teenager to deal with another. Besides, I like to think I’ve gotten way better at reading kids and the things they think they’re hiding these past 6 years, thank you very much.”

“Morgan’s 6. I’m 16, Mr. Stark. There’s a difference.”

 “And I’m 53 and aging like fine wine.” He tilts his head to the side, looking into the distance and declaring, as he lays his hand on Peter’s shoulder, “maybe a good Porto…”

Peter looks down, playing slightly with his food, already used to Tony’s quips, “Harley knows by the way. He saw me come in through my window last night.”

Tony waves his hand like Peter just told him grass is green and the sky is blue, “yeah, FRIDAY told me first thing in the morning. Don’t worry, he won’t talk. Don’t even have to waste an NDA with that one, even if he’s a little shit when he wants to… Anyway, don’t change the subject, I know a plagued look when I see one, kid, trust me. Plus, I heard about the casualty last night…”

Peter sighs, pushing the colorful balls around in his milk some more. Tony’s feeling a bit too much like he’s enjoying this, but, deep down, and perhaps due to the past long conversations about trauma that had occurred between them, Peter is aware of the thread of true worry and care underneath all that flair. A whole load of freshly baked ptsd, Black Widow’s sacrifice and Captain America’s time travel retirement- not to speak about Titan, nobody speaks about Titan-, taking in a grief-stricken kid and Tony’s still his old self, deep down. Peter’s glad for it, really.

Except, right now, he’s not sure HE can be his old and usual self anymore, the one that’s all bubbly and bright. At least not that day. There’s a weariness similar to the one that crushed him the first months after May’s death that’s peaking around the corner, long black tendril-like fingers slithering across the floor, crawling up his legs and arms and trying to pull him back down again.

“It’s not that... well, it is. It is, you’re right. Just that.” He says, cursing at himself for being so weak and attention-starved that he can’t bring himself to even shake the man’s hand off his shoulder in what would be a clear sign that he’s not playing or joking in any way whatsoever- a clear backoff he knew would, instantly, have Tony respect his boundaries and most certainly leave him to himself for some time, give him space to get his thoughts in order (come up with a decent excuse that is).

“Hmm...” The man agrees, pulling out the chair next to Peter so he can sit near his protégée and staring him dead straight in the face as he says, “please, deceive me more because I like it.”

Peter pouts, “I’m not...”

“Uh huh.”

“Maybe...”

“Yes?”

Peter turns his head the other side, staring out the window at the lights still on down in the streets. From there he can make out the trails of yellows, whites and reds the cars leave behind against the foggy glass window. Can see just the softer shade of blue peeking over the horizon, making way for the place the summer sun will soon occupy. Can hide the tears that spring to his eyes.

Why didn’t the spider bite give him resistance to the stinging in his eyes?

He thought any type of pain came included in the package, this is not fair.

He feels Tony shift forward, “something ya wanna share?”

“Maybe...” He shrugs, trying hard to suck in the tears without sniffling, “I’m just tired. Not just... tired of Spider-man. Not just tired of school and filling curriculums- I guess I’m tired of everything and... none of those at the same time?” His voice breaks into a question he didn’t mean to place, but with the way his throat closes up all of a sudden it is inevitable. Maybe, maybe, he really doesn’t know what exactly he’s tired of. Maybe it’s more than the monsters; maybe it’s Kate and the prophecy; maybe it’s Harley and the universities Peter has no idea whether he’ll be alive to so much as dream of attending; maybe it’s Ned and the secrets he doesn’t tell the other boy; maybe it’s MJ and the look on her face when he abandoned her at the theater; maybe it’s the woman he let die yesterday; maybe it’s May’s death and his guilt for being the reason why it happened; maybe it’s the secrets and hardships he’s brought Tony and Pepper and Morgan, the family he doesn’t deserve; maybe it’s the simple reminder of what he is and what that entails.

Scratch the maybe, it is.

It’s his dad, his mom (his real mortal mom, thank you very much), uncle Ben. It’s Liz and the building.

It’s the feeling of turning to dust thanks to his incredible spider senses that generously made him aware of every single atom in him separating.
It’s the battle of Earth.

It’s a whole lot of baggage to unpack and, quite honestly? Peter just wants to throw away the whole suitcase.

But the spiders the past night? Those had been the cherry on top of the cake. Because even the one thing he is that he can somewhat pride himself in for it being good- Spider-Man- even that, had to come from something bad- and not just bad, but something evil (spiders), malevolent (spiders), wicked (spiders) and also inexistant to the general public (monster spiders)...

... something that’s clearly out to get him, it seems.

Yeah, he’s totally about to tell that to Mr. Stark, who has finally gotten the life and family he deserves and that makes him happy and healthy. Or Pepper, who still has so much on her plate and never asked Peter to come live with her, her husband and her daughter.
Maybe he should tell Morgan over a pretend tea party some day.

“Shit, Pete. You should’ve told someone you were feeling this way again. Heck, even Ted or your little girlfriend MJ. Even KAREN or FRIDAY or… DUM-E, you love talking to that obtuse machine.”

“It’s Ned...” Peter mumbles dejectedly.

Tony shifts in his chair, realising his poor attempt at a joke is obviously not working, “it’s okay to take a break, buddy- you, more than anyone, deserve it. It’s called summer vacation, not summer burn out…” A pause, “But...Hang on. If it’s none of it than what else’s eating up at you?”

Peter snorts, and gods it’s gross and so pitiful, wet. But here he is, with the one paternal figure in his life that, despite the odds, hasn’t left him ever- his idol, someone so above his league he’d most certainly never ever even meet in a billion other universes- and he cares about him, is interested in his problems, genuinely wants to help Peter fight his monsters.

But Peter has monsters only he can see.

And he can’t tell Tony a thing.

“I can’t tell you.”

A pause.

“Hey, web-head, I’m serious. We’ve been here before. What’s wrong? Are you in any trouble?”

You could say that. If only you knew…

“When am I not in trouble?” He jokes. Another pause. Peter sighs, “I can’t... I can’t tell you... ‘m sorry...”

Tony’s angry now. Peter hates it when he’s angry. Because angry Tony is similair to disappointed Tony and by straight up not telling him Peter can’t help but feel like he’s playing with their trust- letting the man down, again. They’ve argued about this before and it didn’t end well then.

Truthfully, Tony Stark sounds outraged at the affirmation.

  “Bullshit, Peter. You know u can tell me everything- you have to tell me everything, you hear me, kid?! Because I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s there to help with, what I have to fix! You don’t get to hide things from me, Peter.”

Yeah I do, and we both know that.

Peter shakes his head, unable to get more words out. Instead, he pushes the cereal bowl away dejectedly, all the while hoping Tony can’t see the shudders racing across his body that he’s fighting so hard to keep at bay. Tony sighs, his hardened voice dropping in volume as he collects himself, going infinitely softer, “I’ll ask again kiddo- what’s wrong? Whatever it is, you can tell me, I promise. I won’t get mad.”

I can’t tell you, and I’m asking you to trust me on why I can’t.

“I- I will... just not yet, please... please Mr. Stark... I don’t... can’t...” He shamefully begs. It’s a new low, even for him. Sure, it’s not the first time he’s begged before in his life, but whenever he sinks this low he likes to think that, even in sucj moments, he still has half a mind to do it in private.

Not in front of his hero.

His hero, who has held Peter as he cried himself to sleep for days on end.

His hero, who is the father he’s desperately craved for for years.

Dammit, he’s crying again. Why’s he such a baby? Always crying...

“Damn, Underoos…” Tony exhales heavily, and there’s something in his voice that rivals Peter’s undone one. “Okay.... okay. Here. A hug, I know you like those. Just stop crying, god, I hate it when you cry. What’s this, my funeral?” And then there’s a pair of arms coming to surround him, pulling him in. Peter lets himself sink into the warmth that’s become so familiar and feebly latches on.

“Don’t joke about that...” He hiccups, trying his dam best not to fill the billionaire’s shirt with snot. It’s hard, when all he wants in the world is to break down and give up, but the warmth from the hug is so special it helps him get his breathing together. Besides, Peter’s always been pretty quick at getting back to his feet after a fall. Not like he’s been given a chance not to very often…

“Excuse me, I think if anyone has the right to laugh about my funeral it would be me,” Tony quips, before half-heartedly relenting, “but since you asked so nicely…”

There’s a pause.

“Now seriously, Pete. Come to me, okay? I know I’m not- I’m not her, I’ll never be... but... I want you to feel like you can come to me for every and anything.”

They let go of each other as Peter quickly jumps to his feet, sniffling hard and wiping his hand over his face. Just like that his painful frown turns into a genuine smile, or Tony likes to think it’s genuine at least. Peter Parker’s the most honest person he’s ever met in his life, but through the years, as they grew closer, Tony has come to realize the kid’s got many layers that not everyone gets to see. And he must shove all the negative emotions down there in one of the deepest ones very often, because aside from the puffy red eyes and tear tracks Tony pretends not to see for the other’s sake, it’s like Peter hadn’t been on the verge of a breakdown just seconds ago.

He crosses his arms, watching as the kid sheepishly grabs his bag and rubs the back of his neck, “Uh... Thanks... Yeah, thanks, Mr. Stark. Thank you. I’ll see you later then.”

Well, at least Tony can always count on him to be a tad bit awkward. At least that never changed.

“Whenever you want, Underoos. Have a nice day of sorting through boxes.” He smirks, “and try not to trip into your suit to soon, I heard that tripping into your superhero suit bright and early isn’t very food for spider-babies’ mental wellbeing.”

Peter stops hazardously by the door then, blinking at Tony in his haste to get out of there like yesterday. His cheeks are still pink from the situation as he says, “uh… you too.”, then realizes what he just said, smacks his hand over his face and exits the room.

Tony rises an eyebrow. And as he get back up to his feet to go about his day, head shaking at the teenager’s antics despite his obvious inner turmoil (which will have to be dealt with later, no way out of that), he can’t help but snort.

“This kid...”

...

It takes him a moment to get the feeling back in his body, but when he does, he immediately wishes he didn’t.

Because it’s then that the large deep gash down his tight registers, white peeking down from beneath all the red, and Peter blinks. The monster dust coating his once red suit is like a blaring gigantic neon sign- monster dust, monster killed, monster got him, monster manticore, poisonous manticore, manticore bad bad.

“Shit.” He blurts out before realization settles heavy in his stomach, right as his vision swerves dangerously fast to the right, like a car’s glass fogging and twisting the outside lights once covered in racing rain drops.

This is bad, this is very, very bad.
And he is very, very stupid.

Because he can’t give in to the luxury of just falling over somewhere in the middle of Queens or else he risks someone unmasking Spider-man and he’d rather die than have that. Though, at the rate his blood seems to start boiling with the poison that won’t be long. Either of them. And there’s no way he can race all the way through Queens and to Manhattan to the tower. For some reason he can’t really fully process, the idea of showing up to Tony poisoned once again makes him nervous, makes him nauseous even. No- scratch that, it’s most likely the poison. Again.

Also what the Hades is it with him and getting poisoned lately?! 

Peter tumbles off the roof he’d landed in, blindly throwing out a web at the nearest building and succeeding thanks to his nearly automated reflexes. After so many patrols and now years of Spider-Man-ing he could pretty much swing around his city blind folded.
He’s just thinking about how dumb he has to be to not have replenished the bits of ambrosia he keeps on his Spider-suit, especially after last night, when his web misses the corner of the skyscraper and Peter Parker comes to the realization that maybe, maybe, he got a bit too cocky with that previous affirmation.

He crashes, fortunately on the very top of a lower building, unfortunately skidding painfully across the pebbled ground before coming to an abrupt stop on its other side, upper body tipping dangerously over the edge.

“Aawnn...” He groans, forehead knocking against the resplandecent large window below, the city looking up at him from underneath and upside down, “why me... Damn Parker... demigod... demigod Parker luck...”

“Peter, your vitals appear to be in grave state,” Karen’s voice sounds in his ears and he becomes aware of the tightness in his head, the fullness of his ears that’s only letting up now, for a brief moment, allowing him to listen to the AI’s voice and the city life down below, perhaps a bit too loud for his taste too (go sensitive overload), “I must insist once more that you contact Mr. Stark.”

Once more? He doesn’t remember hearing her before at all.

Peter nods, feeling sweat pull around his head. The Spider-Man mask is becoming overwhelming, but his body’s shaking like leaves in the autumn wind, and he suddenly feels the weight of just the type of injury he’s sustained. And there’s no Kate to save him from his especially fast metabolism by nearly drowning him in nectar and ambrosia this time. The odds are not in his favor, and love to Katniss Everdeen, but he’s different- he’s not very sure he’ll be able to beat them, not this time.
His eyes fill with unwanted tears, thoughts drifting to all the loved ones he’ll be leaving behind when he inevitably dies out here, alone, because he’s too much of a coward to stay where people like him are meant to be, because he’s too stubborn to accept that maybe he doesn’t deserve a family of his own.

He keeps the mask on, even if it chokes him up more each second.

At least he has Karen to keep him company.

He considers saying no like he always does. At this hour, Tony must be hiding from Pepper and her inedible dinner in a lab, working with Harley on that catapult he was supposed to join them on later. The last thing Peter wants is to interrupt their off time to die at their feet and ruin the mood- but as he manages to twist his back onto the ground and stomach up, as he lays there twitching, muscles spasming with the poison inside his veins, jaw locking and leg still bleeding, he finds in himself an egotism that’s not very often there.

Hell, he wants to see them again. Wants the warm presence of a loved one by his side to be the last thing he feels before descending to Hades. Will he even see his mom, his dad, uncle Ben and aunt May there? He likes to think them up in the sky, it’s a much more beautiful place to imagine a heaven than the underworld. Why do the gods get to keep the clouds and the sky, while the good people get trapped beneath the dirt?
He wants familiar reassurance instead of the cold floor of the Olympus staring down at him unforgivably, a whole pantheon of Gods and Goddesses mocking him the one time his courage ditches him and he can’t face his fate on his own like he always does.
He wonders if Athena is watching.

“Yes... c-call... -ony... ease...”

There’s no up and pushing forward this time.

This is not an injury he can heal fast enough with his enhanced metabolism, especially with the added whole bleeding out fast as a waterfall part. On the contrary, it’s something not even the most genius mind in this world could fix, unless they have the right father, and even with a child of Apollo at hand… it’s not looking good. It’s getting worse much faster than it does for most demigods courtesy of that precise enhancement. The spider bite is killing him faster. Again. He laughs. He’ll die, indirectly, at his immortal mother’s worst enemy’s hands, staring up at the sky, the place where she resides without giving a crap about her son’s troubled life. Isn’t it ironic?

Then, he sniffs. He doesn’t want to go like that. He’s not ready. He can still do so much good. If only... if only someone helped him, for once…

And Peter finds himself staring up at the sky, vision tunneling and praying, for the first time in years, that Athena is looking back at him for once, is watching over him and is proud enough despite his past fuck-ups to help him out this one time, despite him having failed her, despite him having basically disowned her.

The last thing he hears is the sound of his own panicked wheezes, and the last thing he sees before nothing is a blurry shadow hovering above him, covering the sun.

...

“No, Morgan, broccoli first. Ice cream after. I’ve told you this,” Pepper admonishes her daughter, leaning over the corner of the table so she can reach the little girl’s plate from where she sits at one of the top chairs.

“But daddy let me have one yesterday!” The youngest Stark bawls, pushing her face away from the ‘airplane’ of green that’s flying towards her mouth.

Pepper pauses mid feeding to silently glare at Tony, who’s sheepishly sitting opposite her place.

“You know I can’t say no to those puppy eyes!” He defends himself.

“Something tells me you really shouldn’t get a dog, Tony.” Harley jokes from where he’s sitting in between the dueling mother and father, “You seem to have a bad habit of not saying no to a lot of puppy eyes in this house.”

“A puppy!” Morgan exclaims from her chair. It’s piled up with pillows so she can reach the table well enough since she’s already too old for high chairs. “Daddy, can we get a puppy, please?!”

“You already have a goose and a llama back at the lake house,” Pepper takes the opportunity to stuff the yucky food in her open, distracted mouth. The girl splutters, shaking her head at the awful taste, and while Pepper warns her to not spit it out, Tony is busy slapping the blond boy upside the head.

“Good thing you’re a little devil with no puppy eyes then,” the man declares, seemingly serious though, deep down, everyone knows it’s meant to be lighthearted, “this is why Peter is my favourite. At least he doesn’t use his powers for evil, god knows what you would do with such power.”

“He doesn’t very often, you mean,” Harley corrects, deadpanning, “because I’ve been here like a week and from what I’ve seen, when he does, it’s scary to watch him have you dancing right on the palm of his hand.”

The genius opens his mouth, obviously to deny it, but ends up hesitating.

“Heh, we all have our lows….” Tony shrugs.

“Speaking of,” the blond boy twirls his fork in the air, pointing in the direction of the empty chair, a loose strand of spaghetti flopping comically about, “Where’s that nerd?”

“What, you think I got him microchipped or something?” Tony leans back in his chair, appearing nonchalant to those who didn’t personally know him. But the way his brows furrowed upon minutely glancing at his watch gave it away to who did.
He’s wondering the same thing.

“Uuh, yeah.” Harley deadpans, “I know you have everyone in this house microchipped as a matter of fact. I’m starting to suspect me too.”

Tony opens his mouth to defend himself, again, then glances helplessly at his wife. Pepper gives him one of her don’t-bother-I’m not-siding-with-you-this-time iconic looks and he looks back at the teenage boy, mouth closing in defeat.

“You’re right, I do.” He shrugs, “FRIDAY, what’s our little arachnid up to right now?”

“Having difficulties connecting to the Spider-Man suit, boss.”

 “What’s he up to now? I swear... Someday his aunt will come back to life just to slaughter me and cook me into one of those inedible, burnt meatloafs of hers.” The billionaire groans, before commanding, “try again.”

“Attempt unsuccessful. Spider-Man suit has been online today but it seems it’s been suddenly disconnected 1 hour, 24 minutes and 3 seconds ago.”

Harley rises a brow at that. Tony calmly wipes his mouth on a napkin, slowly places it back on the table then turns around in his chair, arm slinging itself onto the top of its back, eyeing the dining room ceiling like the AI’s an actual person with a real, physical presence. Then he very eloquently says:

“What?”

“Would you like me to repeat that, boss?”

He shakes his head, “nananana I heard it the first time. I meant what do you mean it’s disconnected? I made it so it couldn’t ever be disconnected, how the heeee-“ He drags the word, suddenly glancing at and remembering the six year old present at the table, “-eeavens did it disconnect, how’d he even manage that?”

“Takes talent to get in as much trouble as the one Peter seems to get in the daily…” Harley mumbles, though even he has grown skeptical.

“Are you sure there was no breach in any protocol, Tony?” Pepper’s frowning, “You told me him and his friend once removed the tracker off the suit in a hotel room.”

Tony shakes his head, rising to his feet and over to a screen on the wall next to the doorframe. There’s one in every room of the house so he can quickly reach a computer for situations such as these- or for when he forgets to order the groceries Pepper told him to get and he hears FRIDAY announce her car is pulling up in the garage.

“That’s the thing. Even when it’s not being used and thus offline not only KAREN but all the other integrated systems keep the connection to FRIDAY and my servers. The only way for it to be disconnected like this would be for it to not exist at all-“ He suddenly shuts up, eyes widening.

A heavy silence falls upon the room.

Not a single soul in that house has an IQ below the Captain’s age, far from it actually, so Tony didn’t really have to say it. Except, with the feeling of dread that threatens to climb up his throat and ruin his recently refound health, Tony can’t help but stress it out loud.

“The only way would be if the whole suit got destroyed...” He pauses, “FRIDAY, pull up the latest data logs that came in. Did Spider-Man engage in any fight whatsoever?”

“Video footage is inconclusive. However, according to Peter’s latest vitals it seems he was in an exertion level comparable to that of a violent physical altercation. He also seems to have sustained a couple of injuries that, given his enhancement, resulted, however, in a non-logical drop of heart rate. I do not have any more information after that entry, sorry boss.”

Silence.

“And why on earth was I not notified of this?!” Tony explodes, feeling irrational levels of anger and unprecedented levels of worry surging up inside him. It’s useless getting like this, he knows, something very fishy (or very, very destructive and... deadly) has to have happened. His tech doesn’t fail. Ever.

“Shit.” Harley declares, rising to stand next to Tony. No one bothers to scold him for his language, there are, apparently, more pressing matters at hand.

“Mommy, is Petey okay?” Morgan frowns, looking unusually scared.

He throws a helpless, apologetic, more-desperate-than-he-would’ve-liked-a-couple-years-ago look at his wife.

“Go, now. Find him.” She urges him on, “we’ll be fine, we’ll be having some ice cream now, sounds good Morgan?”

The girl suspiciously eyes the adults in the room, but ultimately nods, cheeks puffed out and brows furrowed sadly, “I’ll save some for you and Petey, Harl.”

“Thanks, M,” the boy says, before racing out of the room after the billionaire who’s already running a series of interrogations on his AI and preparing to put on the suit.

Something tells him, despite how badly he tries to keep his pessimism at bay, that Peter’s ice cream will have long melted before whatever this new mess he got himself in is over.

Harley can’t bring himself to share that feeling aloud with the older man.